"Really." Maggie cupped her hands around her coffee and savored the fragrant steam; this was her favorite part of coffee, and she was likely to leave half or more of the cup untouched until she poured the cold liquid into one of her potted plants. "Pretty brave of her to come exploring."

Phyllis laughed in surprise, and Maggie thought oh! I know you now — the girl in the back row of geometry, always so quiet, except when startled into giggles at someone's clowning. So you finally got your frizzy curls under control.

"Well, it isn't so much Abbey. Her friend Pearl — actually, her name is Ann and she's just bullied everyone into calling her Pearl — has her convinced. And I think Pearl put it into Abbey's head that since we live on your block, Abbey should explore and report."

"And maybe Abbey wants to look good for Pearl?"

Phyllis nodded sadly. "I think she was curious on her own behalf too. You do — well, you do have a very, um, interesting garden."

True enough. Phyllis and Maggie both looked out the window at Abbey carefully picking her way through the garden, cluttered with dead branches and piles of moldering leaves. She'd walked nearly all the way to the center on the rough spiraling path. She had her hands out, feeling the air, stooping to look at a dried tumble of coreopsis and yarrow, then leaning the other way to scrutinize the few remaining rose hips. Abbey brushed her hands against a half-dozen six-foot lengths of rebar, leaning drunkenly against one another. Maggie reflected that she'd have to tamp them in firmly pretty soon so she could weave twine among them to support the snow peas she would plant.

Phyllis and Maggie saw Abbey stop and put her hands on her hips as she contemplated the center of the garden and the rough stone shape half-hidden by the dried sunflower stalks that rattled against each other, their heavy heads picked clean by the finches.